A BP&G adventure - Pockets; Heretic

[joegoda]

"Just what do you think you were doing, mister?" Grizelda faced the two as they entered the door. The mock anger she was going to throw at Pockets for being so public with his world making abilities faded quickly when she saw their faces. Bags was hard as marble, the lines on his face made deeper by strong emotion, while Pockets seemed to be deflated, drawn into himself, like a balloon sucked inside out.

"What?" she asked, deeply concerned. Whatever it was, she knew it couldn't be good.

"I think we're gonna be moving out, Griz." Bags said tightly. "We're not welcome here anymore."

"What?" A bit, no a lot more volume and the anxious level turned up a bit. "Moving out? Why? What? Who?"

Pockets, pulling himself out of his shell, said, "It's my fault, Griz." He pushed passed her and headed toward the kitchen. "Any coffee made?"

"Pockets!" No answer came to her call. She watched as the man, wearing the visible cloak of the defeated, disappeared. Grizelda turned to Bags. "What in the seven hells is going on?"

Bags crossed to his favorite chair, a tall wing-backed overstuffed leather thing, and dropped into it. He sat, chin propped in hand, lanky arm supported by elbow, which poked itself into the arm of the chair.

"I shoulda seen it, Griz," He said mumbling tightly, numbly, staring at whatever it was that had his ire. "I shoulda seen it."

He looked up at her, and if he had been a different person, she would have sworn she saw tears in his eyes. She went to him, dropped to her knees, and took his free hand in the two of hers.

"Bags, what is it? What could be so bad?" She whispered the words, afraid that the volume would cause whatever it is to be worse.

Bags looked away. "Griz, Pockets and I have fought pirates and soldiers, and we've robbed and stole and done things that I'm not proud of. There are a lot of places where my name or Pockets name would get the evil eye spit out at a person."

He turned back to her and gave a grim smile. "Of course, there are place where the opposite could be said too. I was hoping that this would be one of those places where our names, and yours too, would be said with pride, maybe wipe out some of the things we did when we were younger."

"And what changed that, my love?" Grizelda asked. "What has happened?"

A voice came from behind her. "I'm the devil, Griz. I'm the cause of all the ills that has befallen mankind." Pockets sat on the floor, cross-legged, next to his friend. "The folks here, Griz. They want to kill me."

Grizelda, who is, at her core, a very good person, kind to small animals, children and old people, did have her limits. She could handle a morose Pockets. He'd been that way off an on for all the years she'd known him. She could handle the fact that someone would want to kill him. He was, after all, a rather infuriating individual when he put his mind to it. She could even handle an angry Bags. He'd been angry lots of times. Jaw clenching, vein popping angry. It was never a good thing to see, but it did pass, one way or another.

The scary rarity is that the two of them never, ever, never got into the same mood at the same time. If Pockets had his morose side, Bags would be poking at him, working to cheer him up. If Bags was in his unquenchable angry side, Pockets would be right there, thinking up some hair-brained something or other to pull the attention away from the object of the anger until Bags could be more objective about it. She suspected that was one of the reasons why their, his and hers, relationship had gone so well. Pockets was always the buffoonish buffer.

"Would someone tell me what is going on?" Grizelda's voice boomed and shook windows. Bags' face snapped up to look at her, and so did Pockets. "Would you tell me why a few people wanting to kill Pockets would be reason for the King and Queen to leave their kingdom?" To Pockets, specifically, she said, "What do you mean you're the devil?"

"Your majesty, if you have to yell like that, you're going to wake up the little princess." Cookies voice came from the staircase that led to the second story. "Grizelda, you mustn't wake her up, not after the day she's had." Cookie clucked into the living room and sat down under the great tree. "If you hush a bit, I think I can make what's bothering his majesty and Pockets so upset a bit clearer. I was hoping it was just talk, but I can see now that I was just wishin for fishin." Her heavy face turned sad, and she drooped her arms onto her knees.

"I've been hearing folks talk for a while now," she said. "About how Pockets had killed the God Shockley, blessed be his name." She silently crossed herself and went on. "Those of us that are smart enough know that just couldn't be." She looked directly at Pockets and smiled her grandmotherly smile. "Now, you're a sweet boy, Chester Pockets, but truth be told, you're an odd duck. Things happen around you that are just..." She searched for the words... "Ain't normal. You can deny it all you want, but it's true!"

Pockets smiled at the old nanny. "No insult taken, Cookie. You're just sayin' it like you see it."

"Yes, yes, I am." She looked back at Grizelda. "And no matter how sweet he is, these things that happen around him, well... they got folks talking a bit. Then a bit more. Granted, some of them thought he was just a clown, harmless and funny. Some thought he was a bit tetched." She glanced over at Pockets, who just shrugged. Mattered not to him what others thought of him, he pretended.

Cookie looked pained, but continued, "Bout a year ago, there abouts, a preachin man came to camp just outside the kingdom. He was a bit strange, sure, but he got folks interested. He always wore a long cloak and covered his face, so nobody could see it. Still, he talked about life, and how life was hard, and he knew that life was hard, as he had led a hard life himself. He talked about pain, and how pain was something that had to be born, and he knew that too, as he had led a life full of pain. He talked about the joy that was in the other world and that when you had done your good time here on this world, doing the job that God Shockley had set for you to do, and then you would be able to be there, and not rottin' and burnin' in one of the seven hells."

"Every day, he would be out there, preachin' to all that would hear him, and sometimes nobody would be there, but there he would be, standing and talking, talking and preachin."

"How come I never heard anything about it?" Bags protested.

"Well, your majesty, you are a busy man, what with the running of the kingdom and raising a daughter and a family and all. Besides, this was somethin that I just chalked up to a crazy man."

"Still... he has been out there for a year and I never heard a word about him?" Bags got up and started pacing. "I've been out there, outside of the gates and I never saw him. How come nobody else, not Brigs or anyone else has even mentioned him to me?" He looked directly at Cookie. "How come you never mentioned him to me?"

Cookie scratched her head and shook it, her gray curls flopping back and forth. "I don't know, your majesty. I... I got no explanation for it. I just never thought to mention it to you until this very night. It's the strangest thing, ain't it?" Her face reflected her perplexity. She shrugged and went on.

"Anyway, he was out there preachin everyday, doing the Good Lord's work, and more and more folks started to listen. Now, I'm a God Fearin' woman myself, and I know my path, so I felt that, since I had Him in my heart, I didn't need to hear this preacher's words. After all, he was rather strange, as I said. Him and his green hands and all."

"Wait!" Pockets said, suddenly interested. "His what? His green what?"

"Didn't I mention it?" Cookie asked. "I coulda swore I mentioned that his hands were green."

Pockets stood up and walked to where the old woman sat. He knelt and gently took one of her hands. "No, Cookie, you didn't. You said he wore a cloak and covered his face." He gently touched her face. "Tell me the rest of it. What did he say about me, specifically? Why do all these people think I killed Shockley, and why do they want to kill me?"

Cookie hesitated, shocked by his intensity. This was not the Pockets she knew and loved. This was an entirely different man. His eyes burned bright blue, and there wasn't a silly line or smile about him. He suddenly looked... all grown up.

"He said, begging your pardon, Pockets, but he said that he was there when you done it. When you killed God. That's part of the reason I quit listening to him."

"Okay." Pockets interrupted. "So, you did listen to him for a while, then?"

"Well," Cookie admitted, "he was straight and narrow at first, preachin from the good book and all. But when he started to talk about you and your abominations... I just couldn't listen to that. That's just crazy talk, so I never went back."

"What sort of abominations, Cookie." Pockets looked at her imploringly. "Please, really".

Cookie gently pulled her hand away from Pockets. "You have to understand, Pockets. He painted such pretty pictures with his words. He talked about how Heaven was so nearby we could almost reach out an touch it. When he talked, I could see it, I could see myself in it." She sighed with happy memories.

"It's all right, Cookie. I do understand. Really I do. What did he say about me?"

Her face betraying the guilt she felt, she told him. "He said you killed God, and then became God yourself. He said that you were responsible for causing floodwaters to rise up and destroy a whole bunch of animals. He said you caused fire to rain down from the sky and the ground to shake. He said you stopped time for a day so you could set your evil plan in motion." She dropped her eyes to the ground, embarrassed. "He said you were going to destroy the planet and remake it in your image." She raised her eyes back up. "He said all these little miracles you've done are proof of your power and you aren't to be trusted." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "He says you're the Anti-God, come to destroy us and enslave us." This time it was she that reached out and took Pockets' hands. "It's not true, is it? You aren't the Anti-God, are you?"

Pockets smiled, sadly and shook his head. "No, Cookie. I'm not the Anti-God. I'm not really anything except the same Pockets that you know. Maybe a bit changed, maybe for the better, but pretty much the same." Seeing her reassuring smile, Pockets smiled back. "Besides, if I was the Anti-God, I could pretty much count on never getting any more of your lemonade, right? So that settles that."

He stood up, faced Bags and Grizelda. "Okay kids, I know what's going on here, and I know whose behind it. Damn me for being stupid, I just passed him over, thinking he was harmless."

"Who are you talking about, Pockets?" Bags asked.

"Pewitt, Bags. Probably the only person on the planet that has as much control of it as I do, not counting my other three hundred and sixty selves." He scratched the top of his head. "We really need to be somewhere else."

"Pewitt?" Bags looked perplexed. He looked at Grizelda, who just shrugged her shoulders. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

"Milton Pewitt was one of the guys you sent to find me, during my... er..." Pockets gave a sidelong glance at Cookie. "Big adventure. Remember?"

"Barely." Bags scratched his bristly chin. "I sent two guys... there was one... grandson of BeJay, I remember that much."

"It was three years ago, almost four. You sent Milton Pewitt and another named Weehawk. Weehawk became..." Pockets stopped, thought, went on. "He went a different direction. Pewitt was caught by one of the old men of the forest. A particularly not nice magical old man, who thought to teach him a lesson in tolerance."

"Doesn't seem to me that he learned it," Grizelda said.

"Well..." Pockets pondered. "It's just possible that he blames me for what happened to him. I mean, after all, it was me he was looking for, so in a twisted mind, it's very likely he believes I'm the one that caused him ... well... anyway."

"Caused him what?" Bags asked. "What happened to him?"

"Uh." Pockets scratched the top of his head again. He smiled, embarrassed. "He was trapped by the forest in a kneeling position for three years, by one of the old forest gods. He was supposed to be that way until he apologized for being a religious bigot."

"Sounds like a good plan to me." Grizelda said. "Apparently, though, he never learned his lesson. How'd he get out of the trap?"

"Uh. I would have to say that, at the end of my adventure, certain events occurred that caused a few changes to the folks that live on this planet. Let's just say that this particular old forest god doesn't quite exist anymore. So... without him to keep a watch on the forest where Pewitt was trapped..."

Bags threw his hands up, so when they came back down, they loudly slapped his thighs. "Great. Pewitt got loose because the jailer wasn't there to keep the door locked. And this control he has that you mentioned?" He looked at Pockets, who was blushing furiously.

"Well...," Pockets stammered. "Being trapped in a forest when magical energies are surging all around you and through you will have an effect on you, to say the least, Bags. I'd kinda say that was obvious, wouldn't you?"

At this point, Cookie was yawning mightily. She stood up and said, "All this talk is making my head hurt. I don't understand a half of what you are say, so I'm going to bed. If you decide what you're doing about this crazy man at the gates, you let me know." She started up the stairs. "In the morning." To Grizelda, she admonished. "And no more yelling, you hear? Your majesty?"

"Yes'm." Grizelda said. "I'll watch it."

"Good!" Cookie said. "Good night, all" and she disappeared up the staircase.

"And that, ladies and gents," Pockets said, bowing from the waist, "is how he's convinced the people of Tears that I'm a menace to society and I must be killed."

"Huh?" Bags and Grizelda chorused.

"Cookie won't remember any of this conversation in the morning." Pockets explained. "She'll wake up feeling fine and be ready to pack up and move."

"Why?" Grizelda asked. "What did you do? More magic?"

"Wasn't easy, Griz. Her head really does hurt, and so does mine. Makes my brain itch." Pockets scratched the top of his head again.

"Yeah, okay, whatever. You always make my head hurt." From Bags. "But what did you do to Cookie?"

Pockets shrugged. "I just crept inside her mind and made it so she didn't hear anything we were talking about. Made it all seem like a dream to her and we were all talking a foreign language."

"And this is what this Pewitt is doing to the people of Tears?" Grizelda asked.

"If not exactly it, I'd bet something like it." Pockets thought a bit. "That might be why when you went outside the gates, or any of us went outside, we never saw him. He erased it from our minds."

"Even yours?" Grizelda asked, incredulously.

"Hey, if I don't see the hidden ace, I can't bet against it, can I?" Pockets shrugged. "It's not like I'm God or anything."

"Sometime, when my brain isn't so tired of you talking, you'll explain to me exactly how it is you have three hundred sixty little pockets around this world and you keep having things happen to you."

"It's really easy, Bags." Pockets began. "See, they, the other mes, don't care what happens to the me that's me. All they do is..."

"Eh!" Bags interrupted, drawing pinched fingers across his lips.

"But..." Pockets began again.

"Nope!" Bags said. He pointed to his head. "Brain tired. Stop talking." He again pulled his fingers across his lips. "Zip it."

"We need to..."

"Zip!" Bags beetled his brow and stared at his friend until he was sure that Pockets got the idea that talking was not in his best interest right now. "Okay. Good. Now, nod if I understand this thing you've gotten us into this time. Okay?"

Pockets nodded.

"There's this bad guy. Pewitt. Who wants you dead."

Nod.

"He wants you dead because of some hocus pocus that was done to him while you were off playing savior of the planet."

Nod.

"I'm assuming that it was probably pretty painful or humiliating to him?"

Nod.

"Pretty much like what has happened every time anyone has ever wanted to kill you?"

Nod nod.

Bags sighed. "And, can I assume that this hocus pocus gave this bad guy pretty much the same goofy-assed powers that you have, like when you make it snow?"

"Yeah but..." Pockets began, but stopped when Bags raised a single finger in warning.

Nod.

"Okay." Bags took a deep breath. "Let's jump a little bit further. Now, as you've explained about a billion times." He looked at Grizelda. "That right? About a billion times?"

Grizelda nodded. "I think that's pretty close, yes."

"About a billion times, until we're bored of hearing about it, you don't have the same sort of control as your other selves do because you gave it up so they could control the planet. You did it so you could have fun and not have to worry about running the weather or whatever it is those other guys do."

"Keeping the matrix stable." Pockets said, then quickly, "Sorry." and zipped his lips.

"Whatever. So... would it be safe to assume that this bad guy, this Pewitt, might actually be stronger than you, all by yourself?"

Slow nod.

Bag rose from his chair. He stretched, arching his back and a few of the bones cracked and popped. "I swear Pockets, I don't know how you do it, but you find the most impossible problems and bring 'em all home with you like lost kittens." He looked at Grizelda.

"Honey, I was only kidding earlier when I talked about moving. I'm not now. We need to be somewhere else and pretty darn quick."

"Why? What happened?"

"While we were on our way home, we passed by the old cistern. The one that Pockets blew up so that the moat around the Kingdom would fill up?"

"Yeah?" Grizelda nodded. "And?"

"Well..." Bags paused. "Just as we passed it, water started to shoot straight out of the ground right where the cistern used to be. If I'm right, there won't be a moat tomorrow. If I'm right, all the water in Tears just went up into the sky and went somewhere else." He looked at Pockets. "And if I'm right, Pockets will get the blame for it, and we'll have an entire kingdom looking for his head and they'll be really serious."

"Then," Grizelda said, resigning to the inevitable, "we should be on the road by morning."

"Yup. Reckon we should."

"Any idea where we'll be going?" Grizelda asked.

Bags scratched his head and smiled. "Yup. You've been talking about it since Cookie showed up, four years ago." He crossed over to Grizelda and put his arm around her. "Honey, I think it's time you went home to visit."

"Forest End?" Grizelda smiled broadly. "We're going to Forest End?"

"That's the idea." Bags nodded. "I don't think they'll come looking for us there for a while." He looked at Pockets. "Think we'll be safe."

Pockets thought for a bit, and Bags and Grizelda could almost see the glow as he searched a planet sized computer for the answer. He slowly nodded.

"No, Pockets... you can talk. Just not so much, okay?" Bags said. "What are the odds?"

"Pretty good, Bags. Forest End is... a bit different. I don't know if Pewitt even knows it exists."

"Okay." Bags nodded. "Forest end it is, then." He paused and thought for a moment, then, "We're gonna take a bit of a different route though. I don't want anyone to follow us."

Pockets grinned largely. "We're going to do something that everyone else would think is stupid, right?"

Bags nodded. "Pretty much have to, I'd say."

Grizelda stepped back and looked at her husband. She looked at Pockets. Both men were grinning at each other, and she knew that always meant trouble in one form or another. "All right, you two... What are you thinking abou...?" Her hands flew to her mouth, and then she started to laugh. "I've always wanted to know what was out there. We're going to go through Nomad's land, aren't we?"

"Yep," Bags said. "That we are. Downside is that anyone that's ever gone into Nomad's land has never come back. Upside is that we have our own little wizard here, who can keep us from dying." He looked hard at Pockets. "Or he better. Just a nod is all that's required, chum."

Pockets nodded, furiously, joyously. He had always wanted to visit Nomad's land, a land that was supposed to be full of chaos and strangeness. Even the planetary computer's information on it was very sketchy. For all he knew, it might just be that the reason people never came back was that they died of boredom.

Grizelda started up the staircase to wake Cookie and begin the packing. She turned halfway up. "Just promise me one thing, Timothy Bags."

Bags looked up at his wife. "And what would that be, my love?"

"Promise me that we will come back. It is our home, after all."

Bags bowed deeply from the waist, and once straight, said, "My darling, I promise that, with everything in my power, we will be back, the bad guy will be defeated, and the heroes will triumph."

"That's good enough for me." Grizelda said as she disappeared up the stairs.

Bags looked over at Pockets. "Though I will be damned if I have any earthly idea how I'm gonna do it."